


long road to ruin

by valeriya



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky is a badboy, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Everything is consensual and playful, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Smoking, bottom! bucky, top! Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9326867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeriya/pseuds/valeriya
Summary: Steve's always loved Bucky. His greasy, slicked back hair. His stubble. His pouted lips, that sometimes had a cigarette inbetween them, sometimes not.Bucky's always loved Steve. He knows that.The most important thing? He's getting there. He's human.





	

Steve looked out upon a vast city; roads like veins, outstretched. Trees, almost like capillaries in the sky. He looks down at the cold, metal railing he's leaning over, distressed in its prime. Iron coating flaking off, making a dull scratch with his fingernails as he traces over it.

He's familiar with metal. Back then, it was the sight of it rusting on aged machinery, burnt oranges and flowers growing in their mechanical core, making something horrendous almost elegant.  
Nowadays, it's gleaming chrome, reflecting and whirring constantly: a litany of war (and regret). Assembled in plates, moving fluidly like flesh, and ice.

He breathes in, sighs, shifts his feet.  
There are footsteps behind him, he doesn't bother to turn his head. He knows who it is, and his mind clears. His heart doesn't seem to be pumping so much. Standing on the rooftops, looking out upon civilisation, he feels okay, he supposes.

"Been a long day?" He asks, still looking ahead. There's a distant drone of police sirens, and cars constantly passing by with the same rumble on the highway.

"Yeah." The other says, moving so their shoulders were pressed to one another's.

Steve finally blinks, and arcs his head to look at the man beside him. His shoulders were hunched, elbows on metal. The collar of his beige bomber jacket was upturned, a zipper curling around his neckline. His brow was furrowed, squinting in the daylight, his crows-feet prominent. Light, in itself, has never bothered Steve. Although, he prefers winter.

Flicking his eyes back and forth between the caustic edge of his jaw and the softness of his lips, he huffed to himself - a sort of laugh - trying to decipher in his head how the fuck he ended up here.  
Steve remembers Brooklyn, back then. A lot darker, the colours seemed to be more monochromatic, greens and greys like a sombre forest, but maybe that was his colour-blindness. 

Now, there's still a multitude of silver-grey buildings looming above, but the abundance of flat-screens and holograms give everything a bit more... life.

Not that the past matters, anymore. It's okay that he can't remember.

Bucky leans up from the balcony, his hands dropping to his sides. Steve stands there, watching him rub his mismatched hands on his pants, searching his pockets.

"Gonna smoke." Bucky says under his breath, and Steve nods, watching him pull out the packet and, swiftly, rest a cigarette between his index and middle finger.  
Bucky turns his back, walks in the opposite direction Steve faces as he looks at him. He follows suit, knowing he's going to place himself on the fire-escape steps. Overtaking him halfway down, he sits down and glances up at Bucky, watching him spark up the cigarette and take a drag.

A plume of smoke dissipates from pale lips, the taste of it drawn into Steve's throat inadvertently. He coughs a little, and Bucky smirks.

"If there's one thing I do remember, Rogers, it's your shitty lungs."

"Fuck you." He says, voice rough.

"You know that ain't an insult, Stevie." Bucky says, laughing, eyes bright against the natural light of the setting sun. Steve laughs, too, his teeth showing and veins in his neck protruding making him blush. Bucky's always found that endearing.

Steve looks up, and watches the way Bucky moves. He was meant to be different. He was meant to be geometric, vibranium plates that move in synchronicity, inhuman - instead, he bears colour in his cheeks, hair slicked back and maintained, and his skin a pale-olive.

Bucky's eyes bore into his, a tempest unfurling behind them, and with the cigarette placed between his fingers again, smoke drawing a thin line through his pupil as it rises up. He sees the faint orange ring in the corner of his eyes, which eventually reduces to a small stub.

He puts out the cigarette by crushing it again the back of his metal hand, which always does make Steve flinch, but really, Bucky just likes to know he still worries sometimes.

 

They face the door of their apartment, Bucky's hands fiddling trying to find the right way to slot the key in, and after a few rattles and clangs, he swings the door open, and Steve shuts it behind him.  
Bucky walks down the hallway, the setting sun pouring in through the windows making him a shadow in the enclosed space.  
Before, Bucky always had the lights on. His eyes never missed a beat, he could practically see the earth turning on its axis.

Now? Bucky can walk in the dusk, in the early hours of the morning, and feel at home. He feels human, at least.

Steve, leaning against the front door, watches him. The way his arms swing at his sides, his hair covering his neck, and his ass that looked particularly flattering in those jeans. Bucky feels Steve glaring at him, turns his neck and stops at the end of the hallway, in front of the window, his silhouette only visible to Steve, but the whites of his eyes pierce through the dark veil.

"Coffee, Steve?" He says, voice smooth, like velvet, and disappears into the kitchen.

Steve's arms get goosebumps. "Yeah, coffee." 

Sauntering up behind him, he makes his way over to him at the counter. He knows to make his footsteps prevalent, makes subtle noises so Bucky knows it's just Steve, no one else, just them.

He stops behind him, admires the way his shirt rucks up against his shoulder blades, and presses his nose in between them, a gentle touch of lips through clothing. Bucky relaxes under the touch, Steve's hands move to place them on his hips, then he laces them around Bucky's stomach, palms resting flat against his tummy.

Bucky's ass pushes back against Steve's crotch, and he bites the juncture between his neck and shoulder with a groan, hard enough to feel through his shirt. Bucky tips his head back in a silent moan, his hands grab the counter in front of him as an immediate marble counterweight.

Steve smiles into his neck, breathing against his ear and feeling the way he inhales and exhales through his stomach-resting hands, and feels his fingers prickle with vibrations every time he gutturally moans.

Moving his palms, slowly and still lay flat, he moves his right hand up his chest, underneath his shirt. Feeling the dips of his ribs, the soft curve of his waist, and then his nipple. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger and when Bucky hisses through his teeth, Steve moves his left hand down and strokes him through his denim jeans.

Bucky's hips were already grinding into Steve's hand, making little whines in his mouth whenever the material rubbed him just right, and Steve could feel himself blushing.

God, Bucky worked him up when he did this. He can be so eloquent and gorgeous, soft and gentlemanly, and then the next minute he can be face-down-ass-up and begging Steve to fuck him raw without another word.

Steve blinked, and Bucky's breathing was picking up more as his hand just lay still against Bucky's clothed cock, and he was just rubbing himself on it of his own accord. Bucky's neck was beginning to run with sweat, he pulls his shirt over his head throws it aside, immediately coming back to grab at the back of Steve's head, pushing his face into his neck.

"Fuck, baby." Steve curses, and Bucky whines, again.

"Steve, wanna come. Please, touch my cock," he begs, and Steve can't help it. He loves making Bucky come. He really does.

Steve lets up his hand, sees a furrow break out in Bucky's brow as he turns to face him. Steve motions to the living room across the hall, hell, it's closer than the bedroom. The couch'll do.

Steve sits down on the couch after staring at Bucky's ass down the hallway, and Bucky sits on his lap. He leans down, and Steve looks at him, again. Lips red and kiss-bitten, eyes hooded and thunderously grey, and his jaw tense, their foreheads touch.

Steve huffs a subtle laugh against Bucky's face, the corners of his lips pulling up into a bemused smirk. He's so close to him he can see the wrinkles underneath his eyes, his laugh lines, the cleft of his lip and the dip of his chin and how his lips pout when he breathes. God.

Steve surges up and kisses him, lips touching complacently. All he can hear is Bucky breathing and gasping into his cheek, then he's biting at his ear as he grinds down on Steve's cock, hips rolling so torturously it makes them both moan in unison.

Bucky keeps grinding his hips, so steadily and rhythmically like the innocuous yet enthralling sound of police sirens, and Steve lays his palm flat on the zipper of Bucky's jeans, the pressure not too hard, so his dick can get enough friction when he jerks upwards, a gasp each time it scrapes so perfectly.

He watches his face. Hair stuck to his forehead, his dark stubble shadowing his cheekbones perfectly, those lips all red, purple blotching his bottom lip from where he's been absently gnawing; eyebrows furrowing as his eyes seem to roll into the back of his head every few seconds. His eyes saunter downwards, Bucky's chest rising and falling harshly, accompanied by a moan every few seconds, his ribs imprinted underneath that golden, olive skin -- 

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," Bucky says, voice strangled.

"Come for me, Buck, come."

"Oh, oh my god, I'm gonna fuckin' come, I'm coming," He shudders, body going taut and his abs clenching, glistened in sweat, his hips fucking up into Steve's palm, then slowing. His face is totally fucked out, moans still leaving his lips as he can feel the aftershocks pulsing through his dick. 

When he lifts his hand off, there's a wet patch underneath his jeans, so Bucky stands up - falters a little, legs shaking - and shoves them down to the ground, letting Steve admire him.

His cock was still hard, and Steve never finds him more beautiful than right now. His body glowing, face and chest dewey from the pure bliss of a much-awaited orgasm. "You gonna come fuck me, or am I gonna have to work for it?"

"I ain't fuckin' you Buck. You're gonna sit here," Steve says, drawling, Bucky's eyes are hooded, hair debauched. He breathes heavier. "and you're gonna jerk yourself off on my lap."

"Goddamn, Steve," He gasped, cock already twitching at the sheer thought, tears at the corners of his eyes from the sensitivity but the pure desire to go again overrides him. He wouldn't care if he malfunctioned.  
His tummy hurts from the clenching, but he saunters over to Steve and straddles his lap, one metal arm around his neck, the other beginning to wrap around his cock, stroking slowly, watching Steve blush under him.

Bucky could already feel himself getting close. He was moaning intermittently; short, shaky bursts of moans whenever he caught himself somewhere sensitive - a painful pleasure - but Steve's eyes were black like igneous, he could almost see the lava encompassing his iris, ablaze with lust and destruction.

His hand got quicker on his cock, jerking himself off fast, the tendons in his hands strained and the vein in his neck bulging from tension, Steve started moaning with him.

"'Ah, oh Christ, I ain't gonna last much longer,"

"Me either. Rub your ass down on me."

Bucky started pushing his ass down on Steve's lap, and Steve dug his fingers into Bucky's hips, surely leaving ten nice bruises there for tomorrow, Steve's hips were fucking up into Bucky's ass, he could feel his cock, rock hard, against him as he kept stroking himself.

"I think I'm gonna come, like right now,"

"Right now? Yeah?" Steve teased, smiling at him from under his lashes, God, that drove Bucky insane. He tightens his fist at the nape of Steve's neck.

"Yeah, yeah, now baby, oh fuck, right now,"

Steve watched Bucky writhe through his orgasm, all on his chest and intermingling with droplets of sweat, he slouched forward, when he suddenly gasped and his legs shot inwards. Steve wasn't finished, still playing with his dick even though it's so sensitive, running his finger along the head and watching Bucky's face twitch and the sharp intakes of air he takes every time he does so.

"Hey, okay, none'a that,"

"You love it. Fuck off."

"Fuck you. Did you even come?"

"I came when you ripped out half of the hairs on the back of my neck. Hurt like hell."

"Shut the fuck up, pussy. Better than an arm ripped off."

Steve sat there, struggling not to laugh, but couldn't. He snorted with laughter, and so did Bucky, who collapsed forward and sat in Steve's lap, completely naked, and comfortable. He was happy. 

God, was he happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, writers block for two years sucks, huh? Lots of things have happened. Not much of any interest to you, fellow porn readers. Enjoy this.
> 
> (I was ill yesterday, so I got a chance to finish this. I think this took seven months for me to write, finished the last bit in about fifteen minutes. Sorry, I jut had to put something on here to distract me from college.)


End file.
